So much so, I made you a gif of my favorite part, the sweetest whirlwind of animated mermaids. I wish this was my own personal aquarium.

I got crazy about the Fleischers a few years ago and my Ub Iwerks DVDs have seen lots of use, but I really hadn't spent that much time poking around in the post-1930 Disney vault 'til now. There's so much to see!

I've spent most of my time looking at slightly earlier cartoons, and it's amazing to see the jumps in fanciness a year or two made in those formative days. I guess that's like anything, right? The beginnings of things happen in leaps, not hops.

If you're interested in this kind of thing, I highly recommend Of Mice and Magic, Leonard Maltin's book about American animation. My friend Devlin (who has pointed me in the direction of lots of excellent old cartoon tomfoolery) recommended it, and I wolfed it down. It's a fascinating book - I especially loved the long bit about the trials & triumphs of Walt Disney, about his working philosophies, etc.

There were a handful of brilliant men obsessed with craft and cleverness in the 20's & 30's, when animation was still quite young. Moving treasures that sprang from hundreds or thousands of drawings - I just feel lucky that so many have been preserved and/or restored and are so easy to conjure up any old time.

I'm not going to say too much about Moonrise Kingdom, because, well, it has been so spectacularly well-reviewed and universally loved that my own ambivalent feelings seem completely irrelevant. The tidiest way I can explain the way I feel is: the film was sometimes too much of a good thing, if that makes sense. And that's not the worse problem to have.

One of these numberless good things, among dozens (hundreds?) of special objects and visual wonders Wes Anderson crowded into the movie, are these wonderful imaginary books: six strange, funny fantasy/sci-fi library books that Suzy, the bandit-y heroine, lugs around in her suitcase. With plastic sleeves protecting the winsome, naive covers he commissioned from various illustrators, the books sport titles like the Francine Odysseys and (my personal favorite) The Return of Auntie Lorraine. And they're not just for looks - Suzy reads from the books throughout the movie, and now there are animated short films to accompany each story.

Even though they are just one small bit of his generous, effusive approach to creating films and creating words, they were my favorite thing in the movie. They remind me of books I lugged home from my own elementary school library (and maybe you did, too?) but just a little different. Like Moonrise Kingdom itself, they bear a passing resemblance to something real, but they are utterly unreal - pasted together from half-memories and nostalgia and scraps of paper or felt somewhere in the heart of its creator, a place that will never stop trying to build a new world - prettier and more clever than the real one - from the ground up.

A friend sent this to me on his birthday, and I said "Well happy birthday to me!"

This 1903 film, restored by the BFI national archive, is wonderful - especially the end. It has this fun, dressed-up-for-Halloween feeling, and their film tricks, like the fades between scenes and the floating Cheshire cat, are pretty fancy!

Highlights include:

-The near-perfect recreation of the Duchess scene from the Tenniel illustration-The Mad Hatter becoming violent with the (stuffed doll?) dormouse-The parade of cards at the end (that whole scene reminds me a bit of the finale of Nights of Cabiria, one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in moving pictures)

Thank you for the kind words and excitement about the next book! I'll post more about it as I can. I'm excited to make lots of big paintings to illustrate it (a switch from the Oddfellow's illustrations, which are in pencil.)

I only just found out about this from my friend who keeps me informed of all manner of neat things. What a marvel to read here about the restored color print of George Méliès's fantastical 1902 film. It seems astounding!

I also found a side-by-side restoration gallery here - it's quite the daunting task the Preservation Dept. at Technicolor took on, piecing ragged bits of film together.

The Wonderland-esque scene above is quite spectacular with all those russet mushroom caps.

I hope I get to see it soon! I read there are bits of it in the new Hugo film, or maybe they're recreations of the scenes (I'm not quite sure - we haven't see it yet!). At any rate, hopefully the restored print will tour around somewhere close or soon be available for the little screen.

I recently discovered these videos out of the vast and mysterious internet, and my heart was stolen. Stolen clean away!

The Teddy Bear's Picnic is one of my all-time favorite things, so imagine my delight to happen upon this little gem:

I think I am officially dead because that video right there killed me. Dead as a doornail.

It seems some lovely director out there has made these amazing little stop-motion films using the dolls and backdrops from my Paper Doll Primer ! And if you are the film-maker in question, please say hello so that I can give you proper credit.

The captions! The sideshow!

I really can't articulate how moved I was by these, and I can't think of a better use for my oddball book than this. They're just incredible, and they put a lump in my throat in the best possible way. I could not wait one more second to share them.

Thank you for all the Alice love! I am so happy at the warm reception these pieces are getting - thank you, thank you.

It seems like the buzz about this is spreading far and wide, but I had to add my little voice to the chorus of folks that are saying: "Oh my god, the Criterion library (well, lots of it) is on Hulu Plus!"

Not that I'm going to run out and chuck my Criterion DVDs, heck no. But I am so excited about this development, I can't stop thinking about it. It almost seems too good to be true, you know?

(From The 400 Blows )

I think it's an incredible strike in the plus column for the internet. The accessibility of these significant and wonderful movies for nearly free means almost anyone can watch these, not just someone with the money to buy the beautiful editions for their home library, or folks in cities with a hip video store or particularly good public library.

(From Grey Gardens)

And for people like myself and many of my friends, who work from home or studios, and rely on movies and podcasts and the like to keep them company...I mean, this is huge!

Some movies I really adore and admire currently in the available collection (I'd recommend these to pretty much anyone):

We watch a lot of documentaries in this house (I've been known to say "It's the one genre I am always in the mood for"). It seems like there are new ones popping up every day in the Netflix "Watch-instantly" section, so we both peruse it a lot. There are lots of bad/underwhelming/dud ones on there, but some good ones to.

Like Off the Charts, a short (1 hour) film about the zany and fascinating song-poem business. This odd business model involves a songwriter/poet, who sends their poem to a "music studio" (some more dubious that others), along with a check to finance the creation of their own personal professional recording of their poem set to music.

It's one of the best short documentaries we've seen - and though we are mere dabblers in outsider music fandom (shout out to our beloved BJ Snowden) we can't stop talking about the sweet, sincere, and strange things we saw and heard. I think my favorite was a love ballad to Annie Oakley.

There is also a really good This American Life episode from way back about the song-poem phenomenon, focusing on the son of one of the industry's most revered titans. Anyway, the film is free to watch with a Netflix account, and can be rustled up on DVD. The T.A.L. episode is free to listen to as well.

I know it's a bit random, but I wanted to share the goodness! Happy Thursday to you!

At first, I was weirdly reluctant to watch it, because I was worried it couldn't possibly hold up to my glowing, fond memories. But it does. It's actually better than I remember (or could appreciate the first time), especially as far as the outstanding writing goes. For a show that makes use of all the usual archetypal high-school-show characters (the cheerleader, the clueless parents, the cool best friend) there is so much thoughtful, clever dialogue, especially a little further into the series.

Until this show came along, I had never related to a character on television, well...ever. Until Daria, television, like Seventeen magazine, just made me feel defective. Watching it now reminds me of watching it when I was 16 with my best
friend (who was not unlike Jane, Daria's slightly cooler and better-adjusted best friend). I remember feeling so much comfort in their misanthropic hijinks and whip-smart observations.

And it's still comforting to me. And still really funny. It's so great to watch it again, and not just for the nostalgia factor. Happily, Daria's wise-ass brilliance and relevance isn't confined to the context of the 90's -- which makes me even more happy that a new generation of misfit girls get to know her now._________________________

(Exchanged at a party in the episode: "The Invitation")

Jane: "Are you ready to go?"Daria: "I was ready to go before we got here."

Just a little break from carnival-themed antics, 'cause I've got to shout how fantastic this film is from the rooftops:

I was feeling really cabin-fever-y yesterday afternoon, so we decided a movie date was in order. We went to see the Banksy film, Exit Through the Gift Shop, and it was just what we needed. It's one of the most vivacious, hilarious, clever films I've ever seen, and I was so sad when it was over. It could've been four hours long, and I would've been thrilled! You know that's a good sign.

It features a bunch of street art all-stars, including crazy-adorable Shepard Fairey, in a madcap story about an endearing and obsessive French (erstwhile) documentarian. Twists and turns and huge photocopies plastered on brick walls ensue. There are rumors that it's a giant art project itself (meaning: not strictly a documentary) but even if that's true, it doesn't really detract. It's a beautiful look at an art movement in the making, and eventually, becomes a cheeky commentary on the art world (and market) at large.

Josiah and I agree we'd rate it with King of Kong as one of the elusive popcorn-documentaries (meaning: funny, raucous, and wildly entertaining). A+!

I was very jazzed to discover recently that my favorite Godard, and one of my favorite movies in general, has been Criterion-ified. After years of dubious prints (including my current copy) and unreliable availability, I'm so excited to see their edition. I kind of hoped this was in the works after it went out of print a few years back, and now - voila!

I discovered this movie when I was working at ye olde video store, having no idea about the significance of the French New Wave, or that Godard and Anna Karina are icons. The box just seemed promising, so I took it home and fell in love. It's a beautiful, melancholy visual poem - and Anna Karina has never been lovelier or more adorable. And it's one of those things that found me at just the right time...those things always stay close to my heart.

I can't wait to see this restored version with all the extra bits and doodads I'm sure will fill the DVD. Go Criterion!

I seem to have parades on the brain lately...I keep making parade-ish images without meaning to!

This little gouache painting was made for a little (literally and figuratively) project I'm working on. I ended up liking the image so much that I might offer postcards of it as well!

Not parade or painting related, but we've been obsessive about this Popeye collection lately. Not only does it have all of these beautiful black + white early Popeye episodes (like this one...not the best video quality but it's one of my favorites because the monkey is so cute!) it also has a fantastic amount of extra features. The best one is a wonderful documentary about early animation that includes some of Winsor Mccay's beautiful short films, like the creepy-lovely How a Mosquito Operates.

I never predicted I'd be nerding out over Popeye this way, but it's probably good that I can still surprise myself.

Since it's the new year and all, I've been freshening up the Black Apple shop odds & ends. It is kind of scary how much this sort of work still delights me! So far, I've got a new shop banner up, two kinds of new shipping labels on the way, and a new order enclosure I created up last week.

It will be the new postcard "thank you" that is included with all of our orders:

I just love 'em! I'm going to be watching the porch for that package every day til' it's here.

I've been doing a bunch of work for the book with gouache, and I hadn't since art school. But I really do like it, persnickety a medium as it is, so I used it when I painted the card the other day.

Totally unrelated, but last night we saw the long-awaited Dr. Parnassus! I loved the look of so much of it, and I was thrilled with how much fantastic Waits-age there was (I hadn't wanted to get my hopes up too much, because I feared it might be one of those things where his appearance is hyped up, but he's only really in the movie for 2 minutes). He was wonderful - a reason to see the movie for certain. Also, their collapsing stage contraption from the first half of the film is one of the most beautiful things I've ever laid eyes on. Like an ornate Victorian paper theater, but enormous...and with glittering actors and a whole grove of paper trees. And speaking of paper theaters, one of those makes an appearance, too (but much later). There were so many beautiful sights, costumes, and details, it was well worth getting through some of the "wacky" parts that I associate with Mr. Gilliam but didn't love so much.

This weekend has been so, so good to us so far. Friday night, we had insanely good food with our favorite Vegans and then the four of us proceeded to the theater to see Where the Wild Things Are, along with zillions of other folks abuzz with anticipation (some sporting festive, but, alas, screen-blocking furry hats). Things I loved about the film: the generous amount of growling and yowling and howling, the honest portrayal of the razor-sharp loneliness often involved with being a kid, and the beautiful textures and glorious shabbiness of the sets and monsters. Things I didn't love: the awkward shoe-horning in of the few scraps from the original text they kept (it feels so wrong to cringe at "Let the wild rumpus start!", but I did), and I thought the pacing was a little odd at times. Mostly, though, it was well worth the wait, and something that looks and feels like nothing else...which is quite an accomplishment in itself.

I've also worked on prototypes for new inventions, taken a trip to the comic store and book store (where it was a banner day). New Mome! With new, beautiful, fuzzy Renee French work! And the highly anticipated new Milk. And the always-crazily-anticipated new Lula. I feel positively spoiled for new periodicals right now!

Today I'm at work on more prototyping, and also hope to stuff those little dollies up there so they're not flat and sad on my sewing desk for much longer. I'm thinking the October soft-things update will happen very soon...possibly next Thursday? I'll try to have a little announcement up very, very soon.

Josiah and I went to see Jane Campion's newest, Bright Star, this weekend and we were both very excited. Me - because I love the filmmaker, and Josiah because
he loves the Romantic poets. I am happy to report that neither was
disappointed, and we were both very taken with this gentle, lyrical
movie...it was perfect on a chilly, late-September Sunday night.

Both of the leads were wonderful - I liked Abbie Cornish (Fanny Brawne) when I saw her in the second Elizabeth film, but I was initially skeptical of Ben Whishaw (John Keats) because of his unfortunate association with 2008's Brideshead Revisited. I instantly forget his turn as Sebastian Flyte when presented with his understated, honorable, sparkling Keats. Cornish was wonderful, making Fanny into a study in opposites: someone both flip and thoughtful, secure and vulnerable, warm and interior.

It's that very duality that I love about Jane Campion's film making. She grabs ahold of me most when building a world that is both handmade and elegant, rough and refined, whimsical and grounded. The first beach scene in The Piano is an excellent example of this dynamic, as layers of black Victorian taffeta mingle with the dirt and sand of the shore. Bright Star carries on that theme in quieter ways: With Fanny's simple stitches and gorgeous, dramatic collars. With the couple themselves, slight Keats mingling impishly with the sturdy, rosy-cheeked Ms. Brawne. With the slow bloom of their story set amidst the mundane everyday interiors and glimmering, grand forests.

The whole thing has a beautiful slowness to it (Josiah referred to it at one point as "so pleasantly boring"), but this just gives their love story the space it needs to unfold at a convincing pace. And the romance does feel convincing and true (even to me, who usually rolls her eyes at on-screen love) - because Jane Campion is a master at replicating the way we really experience love:As something at once humbly naturalistic and terribly grand.

And this is completely unrelated to buttons or paper dolls, but did anyone see 9(the film) last weekend?

We went on our standard Friday old-people-stuck-in-a-rut date (but we love the rut) to dinner at the same Mexican place and a movie at the same movie theater, and that's where we watched the late showing. Even though the story was a bit anemic, I loved (LOVED) the "craftiness" of the movie. I know that's an odd quality to look for, but it has saved movies that are otherwise a little on the weak side (Science of Sleep, Be Kind, Rewind...okay, so several Michel Gondry movies) and a bloated superhero epic like Iron Man (remember all that inventing he did?) from losing me altogether. 9 was as creative visually as it wasn't story-wise, and I think that makes it worth seeing...all the tactile little details and inventions just killed me.

I was really, really looking forward to this little film, and we finally got it from good ol' Netflix last weekend. It's not for everybody, for certain, but I really loved it and I've heard nothing but praise for it from other people. It's such a beautiful portrait of the wild precipice between child and adult, right and wrong.

2.) Making this pound cake which Sarah tipped me off about. So good! I cut down the eggs by a few, but I think it's probably grand either way. And definitely go for the cake flour with it!

Things I do NOT recommend:Twisting your ankle horridly (as I did on Tuesday night) and becoming couch-bound. This is the reason for the lack of posting and the kind of anemic post today. I'm just trying to really do the whole R.I.C.E. thing (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation, I think?!) and cross my fingers that I can at least leave the house with my crutches in a day or two.